


A Romance in France

by toyhto



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: Crack, M/M, Post-Canon, Romance, idiots to lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-10
Updated: 2020-11-10
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:54:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27489163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/toyhto/pseuds/toyhto
Summary: In which there're ducks, whiskey, and Norwegian spies, and Napoleon isn't a romantic person.
Relationships: Illya Kuryakin/Napoleon Solo
Comments: 19
Kudos: 103





	A Romance in France

**Author's Note:**

> This story begins right after the events in the movie.
> 
> Also I feel like I'm writing them dumber every time. As if that's even possible anymore. [Tumblr](http://toyhto.tumblr.com).

It had been a long day.  
  
In the morning, Napoleon had thought he would have to talk Illya into not killing him or, in the worst-case scenario, he would have to kill Illya himself. That would have been unfortunate. But what had been especially hideous about the day had been the flight. He had had to sit between Gaby and Illya. Gaby had fallen asleep soon after the takeoff and had started snoring, and Illya had refused Napoleon’s subtle attempts at conversation. Also, Illya had sprawled so that his long legs had taken up some of Napoleon’s already inadequate legroom. And the flight had taken _three hours_. It had been just terrible.  
  
At least things weren’t looking so bleak anymore. Now they were in their new hotel room, Gaby had already gone to bed and Illya was sitting in the armchair in the corner of the room. He hadn’t tried to murder Napoleon since the morning, so the two of them were definitely getting close.  
  
Personally, Napoleon was only professionally interested in Kuryakin. But he _was_ bored and Illya was right there. Also, Gaby had taken the only single bed in the room, so Napoleon and Illya would have to share. That was slightly distracting, but then again, Waverly _had_ mentioned something about a tight budget.  
  
“Peril,” Napoleon said and stood up from where he had been sitting by the window, undoubtedly looking cool and handsome like he always did. “We should get to know each other better.”  
  
Illya glanced at him and then returned his gaze back to his book. He had been reading the same page for half an hour now. Napoleon had managed to deduce that either Illya was a very slow reader or else he wasn’t reading. It was still unclear which option was more probable.  
  
“No,” Illya said, as if he didn’t want to get to know Napoleon.  
  
“What do you mean, no?” Napoleon asked politely.  
  
“I mean,” Illya said and turned the page of the book, “no.” Then he blinked and turned the page back.  
  
Well, Napoleon had heard a ‘no’ before. He knew what it meant. And there were some circumstances where he took it seriously, for example, when he was in bed with someone, or… no, that was it.  
  
“I meant,” he said to Illya, “what do you mean, we shouldn’t get to know each other? Don’t you want to get to know me?”  
  
“No,” Illya said.  
  
Napoleon snorted. Then he dragged his chair across the room to where Illya was sitting. Now that he was sitting next to Illya, he could see what the problem with Illya’s book was. The print was tiny. Illya probably needed glasses. It was truly a wonder that he was so good at shooting people with his eyesight. It explained his sense of fashion, though.  
  
“Okay, this is what we’re going to do,” Napoleon said, took the book from Illya’s hand and put it away. Illya grabbed his wrist but he didn’t let it bother him. Illya wasn’t squeezing hard enough to break any bones. “I have a bottle of whiskey in my suitcase. It’s cheap and tastes bad but I promise you, there’s alcohol in it. We’re going to drink it and talk.”  
  
“You are crazier than I thought,” Illya said, glaring at him.  
  
He smiled at Illya. He knew the smile was one of his several best features and he had always been generous with it. “I _know._ I could afford to put a little bit more money to my booze. But I’m really not that picky, as long as there’s alcohol.”  
  
Illya seemed not to know what to say. That was perfectly normal. Napoleon’s charm often had that effect on people.  
  
He patted Illya on the knee. “I’ll get us glasses,” he said, stood up and tried to move, but Illya was still holding his wrist. He tugged a few times and Illya let go. “Thank you,” he said. “You have warm fingers.”  
  
It turned out he couldn’t find any glasses. He was slightly disappointed but reminded himself of the so-called tight budget. He took the whiskey from his suitcase, checked that there was alcohol in it and then walked back to Illya. Illya would have been terribly disappointed if their plans to get to know each other over a bottle of alcohol would have had to be cancelled.  
  
“Here you go,” he said and passed the bottle of whiskey to Illya. Illya didn’t take it. “Peril, this is the whiskey I was talking about.”  
  
“I do not want it,” Illya said, staring at him.  
  
He thought about that. It didn’t make sense at all, but the way Illya was looking at him reminded him of this morning when Illya had been thinking about killing him. So, he just patted Illya on the arm and sipped of the whiskey himself. “Oh, shit, this tastes bad. Do you want to play Truth or Dare?”  
  
“What?”  
  
“You don’t? Okay, maybe later.” He sipped his whiskey again. “Let’s talk first. What would you like to know about me?”  
  
“Nothing,” Illya said.  
  
“Nothing?”  
  
Illya nodded.  
  
Napoleon opened his mouth and then closed it. He had a funny feeling that his plans for the evening weren’t going the way he had planned, which was odd, because he hadn’t exactly planned much. He didn’t like planning. Usually, good things happened to him anyway. And dangerous things. And all kind of things, actually. What was the point of planning, if stuff occurred anyway? “ _Nothing?_ ” he asked, just to be sure. “You could ask me anything. You could ask which cologne I wear. You could ask me about my childhood. You could ask me what I like in bed.” He sipped the whiskey. “Heavy blankets, high pillows, by the way. Or you could ask me what I think about your sense of fashion. Or –“  
  
“Why do you want to get to know me?”  
  
He blinked. “What?”  
  
“That’s my question,” Illya said, staring at him. “Why do you want to get to know me? We could just sit here, ignoring each other. That’s what we did before.”  
  
“True,” he said. But to be honest, he hadn’t been _ignoring_ Illya. He had been looking at Illya _a lot._ Also, he had felt something odd towards Illya ever since Illya had saved him from a certain death in the hands of sadistic torturer. He supposed the feeling might have been called _mild relief._ “But that was before,” he added. “Things are different now.”  
  
“How so?” Illya asked, frowning.  
  
“Well,” Napoleon started slowly. He definitely wasn’t going to admit out loud that he didn’t hate Illya. “Before, we thought we’d be working together for one project only and then we would probably have to kill each other. Now, it seems that we’re going to be partners for a long time.”  
  
“For a long time?” Illya repeated, sounding suddenly worried. “How long?”  
  
“I don’t know,” Napoleon said. “But judging from what Waverly said earlier, I suppose it could be decades.” Or days. Waverly had said nothing about the length of the assignment. “Anyway, I just think it would be nice if we knew something about each other. That’s why I want you to ask questions about me.”  
  
Illya stared at him. He sipped his whiskey. This was going very well. He was feeling a little tipsy already. They would get drunk together and then become best friends. He smiled at Illya and got a little worried when Illya didn’t smile him back, but maybe they just didn’t teach the kids how to smile in Russia.  
  
“I’ll ask you something, then,” Napoleon said. “What do you think of me?”  
  
Illya blinked. “I thought _you_ wanted to get to know _me_.”  
  
“I do.”  
  
“But you asked me a question that’s about _you_.”  
  
“It’s important,” Napoleon said. “Or don’t you want to tell me what you think about me?”  
  
“Of course I don’t want to tell you that,” Illya said.  
  
Napoleon frowned.  
  
“I think you aren’t disastrous in everything,” Illya added, his voice more quiet now.  
  
Napoleon smiled. “Really?”  
  
Illya nodded. “You’re averagely good at getting into places where you aren’t supposed to be.”  
  
Napoleon smiled a little bit more. Then he tried to stop, because Illya looked dazzled. He was narrowing his eyes at Napoleon and the look on his face suggested that seeing Napoleon’s smile hurt him physically. Maybe he wasn’t used to that much good. That was understandable. The problem, however, was that Napoleon couldn’t stop smiling.  
  
“Are you drunk?” Illya asked.  
  
“No,” Napoleon said and sipped his whiskey. “ _We’re_ drunk.”  
  
“Maybe you should not be drinking,” Illya said. “You did not eat anything on the plane. You just complained about how long my legs are.”  
  
“They are very long,” Napoleon pointed out, glancing at Illya’s thighs. “Very well. You can take the whiskey.” Then he put the bottle in Illya’s hands. Illya took the bottle and their fingers brushed. Illya had nice fingers. They were warm in the same way that human fingers always were. Unless the human was dead. “I’m going to ask you something.”  
  
“Don’t,” Illya said.  
  
“I think you’re very tall.”  
  
Illya blinked.  
  
“Like, you might be the tallest man I’ve ever seen,” Napoleon said and then thought about it. “No, you aren’t the tallest man that I’ve ever seen. But you _could_ be the tallest man that I’ve ever stood close to. Like, very close. Do you like my cologne?”  
  
“Your cologne?” Illya asked. His eyes were wide. Napoleon hoped he wasn’t high. It would have been terribly impolite of him to hide his drugs from Napoleon. They were almost friends, after all. They hadn’t even killed each other today.  
  
“Yes, my cologne,” Napoleon said and leaned closer to Illya. “Do you want to smell me?”  
  
Illya leaned back and fell from the chair.  
  
“Sorry,” Napoleon said and stretched his hand out to Illya. “I’m terribly sorry. I didn’t mean to push you.”  
  
“You did not _push_ me, I –“  
  
“I thought you were stronger.”  
  
“You did not even _touch_ me,” Illya said, sounding oddly shocked. He had just fallen onto the floor. He hadn’t died or anything. He climbed back to the chair and sat down, and Napoleon took the whiskey from his hand, undid the cork and sipped the alcohol. He was going to drink a little more, but Illya grabbed the bottle again. “You’re drunk, Solo.”  
  
“I think,” Napoleon said slowly, because he had to concentrate, “that if we stood very close to each other, like, face to face, I would have to raise my chin to look you in the eyes.”  
  
Illya stared at him.  
  
“I mean it,” Napoleon said, answering the stare. He kind of liked Illya’s eyes. He leaned forward to see them better and had to grab Illya’s shoulder for balance or else he might have fallen straight onto Illya’s lap. That would have been uncomfortable. And kind of nice. “I could do it right now. If you wanted to.”  
  
“Do what?” Illya asked in a tight voice.  
  
“Look you in the eyes,” Napoleon said, looking Illya in the eyes.  
  
“That is not necessary,” Illya said. He looked like a Russian deer in the headlights. Or like a dolphin. Or like a very clever and dangerous cat. Or like a human male.  
  
“Truth or Dare,” Napoleon said.  
  
“What?”  
  
“I promised you we’d play Truth or Dare,” he said and put his hand on Illya’s arm. It was nice. It was solid and thick under his touch. Strong, but in a delicate way. He squeezed Illya’s bicep, and then he remembered what he had been talking about. “Truth.”  
  
“ _What?_ ”  
  
“I pick Truth,” he told Illya. “Now you must ask me a question.”  
  
“What kind of a question?” Illya asked, grimacing.  
  
“The kind that I don’t want to answer to,” Napoleon said.  
  
Illya looked confused.  
  
“Something personal and embarrassing.”  
  
Illya stared at him for a long time. He tried to seem encouraging.  
  
“Alright,” Illya said eventually. “Has anyone ever left you?”  
  
Napoleon opened his mouth, then closed it, and then opened it again. It was a good thing that he was holding onto Illya’s arm, because he was feeling a little unsteady. “What kind of a question is that?”  
  
“A personal and potentially embarrassing question you do not want to answer to,” Illya said.  
  
Napoleon cleared his throat. “Why would you ask me a question like _that?_ ”  
  
“Because you told me to.”  
  
“I didn’t tell you to ask me about my break-ups _._ ”  
  
“You don’t have to answer,” Illya said. He didn’t sound very relaxed. That was weird, because Truth or Dare was a fun game. “Maybe that was too personal. I apologize.”  
  
“No,” Napoleon said and grabbed Illya’s arm tighter,” no, you don’t have to. You asked. I’ll answer. This is fun. Yeah, I’ve been dumped.”  
  
“Do not tell me more,” Illya said.  
  
“It was very unpleasant. I was in love with her. And one morning, she just told me she didn’t want to see me anymore.” Napoleon paused. “I had stolen a few very valuable pieces of artwork from her. But that doesn’t mean that I didn’t love her, because I did.”  
  
“Cowboy,” Illya said, covering Napoleon’s hand with his own, “you are mad. But I am sorry you were dumped by that woman you were stealing from. That is a terrible. Understandable, but terrible.”  
  
“Thanks,” Napoleon said. “My turn. Dare!”  
  
“What?” Illya asked.  
  
“I’m going to dare you to do something you want to do but don’t know it yet,” Napoleon explained and then blinked. “Do you want to kiss me?”  
  
“ _What?_ ” Illya asked, staring at him with wide eyes. Like a Russian human deer in the light. He was very attractive, too. “Isn’t that a question?”  
  
“No, it’s a Dare. Haven’t you played this game before?”  
  
“Absolutely not.”  
  
“Okay. So, do you want to kiss me?”  
  
“Do I have to answer that?” Illya asked. His voice sounded strained. Maybe he hadn’t been drinking enough.  
  
“Yes,” Napoleon said.  
  
“Yes,” Illya said.  
  
Napoleon stared at him for a few more seconds. Then he realized Illya had said ‘yes’. “What?”  
  
“Yes,” Illya said again.  
  
“ _What?_ ”  
  
“You said I have to answer,” Illya said. He sounded very uncomfortable. “You said it’s part of the game. I thought it was in the rules.”  
  
“Yes,” Napoleon said slowly, “but… _what?_ ”  
  
“I like rules,” Illya said. He looked like he was suffering. From what, Napoleon couldn’t tell. And before Napoleon could deduce that, Illya leaned away from him, as if he needed personal space or something. But Napoleon still had a grip of Illya’s arm, and he wasn’t feeling very steady, because he had drunk a little bit alcohol that had alcohol in it. So, he so fell face-down into Illya’s lap and then froze. Illya froze, too. “Cowboy,” Illya said in a very tight tone. “ _Solo_.”  
  
“Sorry,” Napoleon said to Illya’s crotch. The fabric of Illya’s pants felt surprisingly nice against his face. However, he was a gentleman, and therefore he grabbed Illya’s knees and pushed himself straight. Then he smiled at Illya. Illya didn’t smile back. “I apologize.”  
  
“There’s no need,” Illya said. His eyes were moving back and forth on Napoleon’s face. “But this can’t go on any longer. I will take you to bed now.”  
  
“Bed?”  
  
Illya nodded.  
  
“Shouldn’t we kiss first?”  
  
Illya opened his mouth and then closed it again. Then he stood up, grabbed Napoleon’s shoulders and pulled him onto his feet. Apparently he didn’t want to kiss first. He dragged Napoleon to the bathroom but with surprisingly little violence, and then he made Napoleon wait there and fetched Napoleon’s suitcase. Napoleon told Illya he could sleep in the clothes he was wearing now, and anyway he didn’t remember how to open buttons. Illya grunted and told him to brush his teeth, and when he had done that with adequate success, Illya unbuttoned his shirt for him and helped him to get out of his trousers. Then Illya left him in the bathroom to take a piss. He felt a bit lonely but luckily Illya was waiting him on the other side of the door.  
  
“Do you want to make love?” Napoleon asked, when Illya was pushing him towards the bed. “Or just cuddle? Because I like both. But I have to say, my testicles are very sensitive. I don’t want you to slap them.”  
  
“Why would I slap your testicles?”  
  
“I don’t know,” Napoleon said and tried to climb onto the mattress. The bed was double-sized, which was good, because Illya was a tall one. They didn’t want anyone to fall over the edge while they would be making love. “Some people enjoy slapping me in the testicles. And you kind of seem the type.”  
  
“I don’t want to slap you in the testicles,” Illya said, but he had a look on his face as if he was already reconsidering his statement.   
  
“Just be gentle about it,” Napoleon said. Oh, god, the pillow was high and the blanket was heavy. Waverly had clearly lied about the tight budget.  
  
He was still thinking about the budget, when he realized Illya hadn’t got to bed with him. Instead, Illya was standing beside the bed, staring down at Napoleon with a slightly worried look on his pretty man-face.  
  
“Why aren’t you in bed?” Napoleon asked.  
  
“I do not want to take advantage of your current condition,” Illya said sounding utterly unhappy, exactly like he always sounded. “But there’s only two beds and I’m not going to fit in the single bed with Gaby.”  
  
Napoleon glanced to the right. Yes, Gaby was indeed sleeping in the other bed. She was snoring lightly, and it seemed that she had earplugs. “You’re going to fit here,” Napoleon told Illya. “You don’t even have to kiss me if you don’t want to. We can just have sex.”  
  
“We aren’t going to have sex,” Illya said.  
  
Napoleon frowned. Well, that was weird. He was already in the bed and he knew he smelled great. “Not even a little bit?”  
  
“No,” Illya said. “I’m going to get in bed with you and respectively sleep next to you without touching you at all. My working ethic is exceptionally high.”  
  
“I don’t use drugs,” Napoleon lied and then waited in the bed while Illya disappeared in the bathroom. They would probably have sex. That would be nice. He thought about the sex they would have and listened to Illya brushing his teeth, and after Illya had gone out of the bathroom, Napoleon watched him changing into his pajamas. The pajamas had tiny Russian bears on them.  
  
“Stay on your own side,” Illya said and settled on the bed next to Napoleon.  
  
Napoleon tried to kiss him.  
  
“No,” Illya said and pushed him back to his own side.  
  
Goddamn. He was going to ask Illya if Illya might have wanted to kiss him just a little bit after all, but before he managed to open his mouth, he passed out.  
  
  
**  
  
  
 _Shit_ , the sun was shining brightly today.  
  
Napoleon peered open one eye. It wasn’t the sun. It was a flashlight.  
  
“Great,” Gaby said and switched off the light. She was standing next to the bed, fully clothed and very pretty for a woman who’s holding a flashlight at your face early in the morning. “I’m glad that you aren’t dead.” She blinked. “Well, I’m not _not_ glad that you aren’t dead. What did you do to Illya?”  
  
Napoleon glanced to his left. Illya was lying on the mattress next to him, wearing pajamas with tiny bears on them, still asleep. The odd thing was that Illya had his arm draped over Napoleon’s waist.  
  
“Nothing,” Napoleon said, turning back to Gaby. “I don’t know what he’s doing in bed with me.”  
  
“Well, there’s only one single bed in this room, and I took it,” Gaby said, looking at Illya. “I hope you didn’t seduce him.”  
  
“Hm,” Napoleon said. “What if he seduced me?”  
  
Gaby snorted.  
  
“I hope I didn’t seduce him,” Napoleon said. “I don’t exactly remember what happened last night. I think we were drinking and playing Truth or Dare, but then it gets a little blurry.”  
  
“He looks oddly happy like that,” Gaby said, switched the flashlight on again and pointed it at Illya’s face. Illya blinked. Then he blinked again. Then he opened his eyes. Then he pulled his arm away from Napoleon’s waist, which was a disappointment, but Napoleon was a very special Special Agent and he could hide his disappointment almost entirely. He only sighed. Then he sighed again. Either he was hangover or else Illya had tried to poison him last night. That would have been disappointing, too, especially since he had a very clear memory of having his face against Illya’s crotch, which suggested that the evening had been a success otherwise.  
  
“What the hell is happening?” Illya asked, staring at his own hand that had been very recently resting against Napoleon’s bare stomach.  
  
“I don’t know,” Napoleon said. “I can’t really remember.”  
  
“I just woke up and found you two hugging each other in your sleep,” Gaby said.  
  
“He was not hugging me,” Illya said.  
  
“I really wasn’t,” Napoleon told him. “You were hugging _me._ ”  
  
“Just so that you know,” Gaby said, “you two looked very cute there, sleeping and hugging each other. Except Napoleon, you were drooling.”  
  
“Impossible,” Napoleon said. “I never drool.” Then he wiped the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand.  
  
“I refuse to participate in this conversation,” Illya said, grabbed the blanket and climbed out of the bed. Accidentally, they had been sharing the blanket, so now Napoleon was left without it. Also accidentally and with no direct causation to Illya hugging him in his sleep, he had a boner.  
  
“Morning wood,” he said and smiled at Gaby.  
  
“Oh my god,” Gaby said and turned away. Illya walked to the bathroom and locked the door, so coincidentally Napoleon was left alone in bed. He didn’t like it but he could handle it. He sat there for a while, tugging at his boxers, because certainly he couldn’t do anything else while Gaby was walking around in the room, ignoring him. He also had a headache and he wished he would have woken up a little earlier so that he could have cuddled Illya and then pretended he had been asleep. He missed cuddling. He also missed sex. It had been three days since he had slept with Victoria Vinciguerra, and although the sex itself had been good, having been kidnapped and tortured later had somewhat ruined the memory of Victoria for him.  
  
He sat on the mattress with his boner until Illya came out of the bathroom. Illya was wearing his whole armor now: the black turtleneck and the brown trousers. He also smelled of toothpaste. He gave the blanket back to Napoleon and then straightened his back. Napoleon tried to look him in the eyes and hurt his neck.  
  
“Waverly sent me a note,” Illya said to Gaby, sounding very serious. “He wants me and Cowboy to investigate the surroundings of this hotel.”  
  
Napoleon blinked. “He sent you a note? While you were in the bathroom?”  
  
“Yes,” Illya said.  
  
“I think that’s a good idea,” Gaby said. “You and Napoleon should go out. To investigate the surroundings. And maybe talk about last night.”  
  
“There is nothing to talk about,” Illya said.  
  
“I don’t remember much, so I don’t think I can talk about it,” Napoleon said. Well, that was a lie. Of course he could talk about it, no matter how much he remembered.  
  
“Nothing happened,” Illya said, sounding almost angry about something. Maybe he had really wanted something to happen and was disappointed in Napoleon. That would have been weird. People were rarely disappointed in Napoleon.  
  
“I don’t want to hear about it,” Gaby said. “Please, go.”  
  
“Can I just put on some clothes first?” Napoleon asked. “Not that it’s necessary, but it looks like it’s a windy day.”  
  
“Just be quick about it,” Illya said and then proceeded to stare at him while he climbed off the bed, put on his clothes, went to the bathroom, brushed his teeth, washed his face, shaved his chin, applied face cream, fixed his hair and put on a tie. Then he closed the bathroom door and took a piss while Illya was muttering on the other side of the door. It was a nice sound. A little like air conditioning. Or the waves hitting the rocks at the waterline. Or a machine gun in the distance. Or a -  
  
“Cowboy,” Illya said, though the door, “what’re you doing there?”  
  
“Taking a piss,” Napoleon answered. The truth was that apparently, he was holding his dick and composing metaphors about Illya’s muttering. But he wasn’t going to tell Illya that. He put his dick back into his pants, opened the door and then washed his hands. Illya looked impatient and quite handsome in a Russian way.  
  
“Ready?”  
  
“Yes,” Napoleon said, gathered his guns and then followed Illya out of the door.  
  
  
**  
  
  
“So, what exactly are we supposed to be investigating here?” Napoleon asked, looking around. They were sitting on a bench in the park next to the river. It was a nice day, a little windy but not terribly so, and the sun was shining. There were ducks walking on the grass close to them, which wasn’t ideal, because he had always been a little afraid of ducks. But he supposed Illya would protect him, if the ducks attacked.  
  
“It doesn’t matter,” Illya said. He was drinking coffee from a paper cup and he looked like he hated it.  
  
“What did Waverly say to you?”  
  
“Nothing,” Illya said and frowned. Napoleon couldn’t understand why. The coffee tasted just fine to him. “I mean, nothing that you should worry about. Why are you staring at the ducks?”  
  
“I don’t like ducks,” Napoleon said to him. “I’m not afraid of them. I just don’t like them. And I don’t like the idea that they might attack me and peck my eyes while making that horrible sound.”  
  
“Quaking.”  
  
“Yes. That.” Napoleon paused. “But I’m not afraid of them.”  
  
“Okay,” Illya said, then took a deep breath, raised his arm and put it on the back of the bench. Coincidentally, Illya’s arm settled behind Napoleon’s back. Illya looked a little uncomfortable. Maybe he had to stretch his biceps. “Truth,” Illya said.  
  
Napoleon blinked. “What?”  
  
“Truth,” Illya said. “It’s my turn and I want Truth.”  
  
“ _What?_ ”  
  
“Obviously. I’m not going to give you a chance to dare me to do something crazy, like eat ice cream.”  
  
Napoleon stared at him. “Haven’t you ever eaten ice cream?”  
  
“Once,” Illya said, looking a little shocked. “It was very cold.”  
  
“Don’t you like cold? You’re from _Russia._ How did you even cope?”  
  
“There’re warm places in Russia, too,” Illya said, “or so I’ve heard. Also, I had a good coat. Now, you ask me an embarrassing and personal question.”  
  
“ _What?_ ” Napoleon asked.  
  
“That’s not a very good question,” Illya said, shifting on the bench. “Alright. I will tell you.”  
  
“Tell me what?”  
  
“I would have kissed you.”  
  
“You would have – _what?_ ”  
  
“Kissed you,” Illya said, staring at the ducks. He looked scared, which was uplifting. Sometimes Napoleon had wondered if he was the only Special Agent who was afraid of ducks. “But you were drunk, and your ability to control your behavior is quite modest even when you are not intoxicated. I did not want to take advantage.”  
  
“What do you mean, _modest?_ ” Napoleon asked. “I’m not _modest_.”  
  
Illya glanced at him. “Certainly not. However, I wanted you to know that I would have kissed you.”  
  
He stared back at Illya. Something was happening here that he couldn’t quite grasp, and that wasn’t only because the ducks were approaching them and he had difficulties concentrating. Luckily Illya was right there. He put his hand on Illya’s knee and squeezed, and then he subtly checked his gun, just in case Illya would react to the ducks too slowly.  
  
“If?” he added, when the ducks stopped. Illya stared at him blankly, so he squeezed Illya’s knee again. It felt nice. “You would have kissed me, if what?”  
  
“What?”  
  
“You can’t just say that you would have kissed me. You’ve got to tell me in what scenario you would’ve kissed me.”  
  
“ _Why?_ ”  
  
“So that I can…” Oh, god, one of the ducks was looking at him. He shook his head. “Sorry. What I was saying was that… why didn’t you kiss me?”  
  
“I already told you. I did not kiss you because you were drunk.”  
  
“I’m not drunk now,” Napoleon said.  
  
Illya stared at him.  
  
He stared back at Illya.  
  
Illya stared at him harder. “I hope not. You have only been drinking coffee.”  
  
He squeezed Illya’s knee. Then he realized his knuckles were going white. He let go of Illya’s knee.  
  
“Thank you,” Illya said, looking around. “Listen. I think Waverly wants us to go back to the hotel now.”  
  
“No,” Napoleon said and cleared his throat. “No, no, no. You wanted to talk to me. We aren’t going to go back to the hotel before we’ve finished this conversation. Also, I think that if we move, the ducks are going to attack.” He paused. “I’m not afraid of them.”  
  
“I will kill the ducks for you if you want me to,” Illya said.  
  
Napoleon thought about it. What a nice gesture. But there were children in the park, and he supposed it wasn’t good for toddlers to see a KGB agent kill a murderous animal. They might end up thinking that socialism was good. “That’s not necessary,” he said to Illya. “But I’ll tell you if I change my mind.”  
  
Illya nodded.  
  
“I have to ask you something,” Napoleon said.  
  
“Please, don’t,” Illya said.  
  
Napoleon placed his hand on Illya’s thigh but lightly this time. He didn’t want Illya to lose a leg. He rubbed his thumb against the inside seam of Illya’s trousers and Illya twitched. “Did I try to seduce you last night? Because if I did, I’m terribly sorry or not sorry at all, depending on how you took it. But my memory is a little bit blurred so I’m not sure. I guess there was some alcohol in the whiskey that we were drinking.”  
  
“ _You_ were drinking,” Illya said. “I did not drink. And I’m not sure if you tried to seduce me. You were quite disorganized about it.”  
  
That was weird. It had never happened before that someone would have been unsure whether Napoleon had tried to seduce them or not. “I was?”  
  
“At some point, you pressed your face against my…” Illya pointed down at his crotch. “My genitals.”  
  
Napoleon sipped his coffee and almost drowned in it. Oh, shit, he remembered that. “I did?”  
  
“Yes,” Illya said very pointedly. “And then you said you wanted to make love with me.”  
  
Well, that kind of made sense. “Oh?”  
  
“I told you that you were too drunk. Also, you attempted to kiss me when we were in bed.”  
  
“I _did?_ And what happened then?”  
  
“I said ‘no’.”  
  
“Oh.”  
  
“Cowboy,” Illya said and then paused. He looked like he was in pain. “I think that I would not be very happy if you suddenly died.”  
  
“ _Oh,_ ” Napoleon said and patted Illya’s thigh. “That’s… that’s quite a lot, Peril.”  
  
“I _know_ ,” Illya said, not looking at him. “I do not remember when the last time was that I said that to anyone. It might have been in 1957, in Moscow. It was a cold day.”  
  
“I’m sure. Peril –“  
  
“But I had a good coat.”  
  
“Illya,” Napoleon said. He was stroking Illya’s thigh now, but he supposed Illya didn’t mind, because he hadn’t threatened to kill Napoleon yet. “I wouldn’t be glad about your death, either. That’s why I didn’t kill you yesterday.”  
  
“I thought so,” Illya muttered.  
  
“By the way,” Napoleon said, running his fingers up and down on Illya’s thigh, “when I woke up this morning, you were kind of hugging me.”  
  
“I apologize,” Illya said, staring at Napoleon’s hand on his thigh. “I should not have done that when you were unconscious.”  
  
“You can hug me any time,” Napoleon said. “If I don’t like it, I’ll let you know. I’m just wondering why you did it.”  
  
Illya glanced at him. “I do not dislike your body.”  
  
“Oh,” he said. He felt suddenly a little warm in his suit. That was weird. He had been under the assumption that the winter was coming. “What about my personality?”  
  
Illya frowned.  
  
“Let’s not talk about it,” Napoleon said and patted Illya’s thigh. Then he stopped. Then he very pointedly decided not to think about what he was doing and brushed his fingers against the zipper in Illya’s lap.  
  
“Cowboy,” Illya said in a very low voice, “what are you doing?”  
  
“I don’t know,” Napoleon said. He thought he could feel the shape of Illya’s dick through the fabric. Well, that was a surprising thought to think about. Not that he wasn’t normally interested in dicks, because he was, he just had very little patience for any dick except his own. He swallowed and glanced at Illya’s face for a change. “Sorry. Did you want to kiss first?”  
  
“Yes,” Illya said.  
  
Napoleon blinked. “You did?”  
  
“Yes. I told you.”  
  
Napoleon shook his head. “I don’t think you told me anything of that sort.”  
  
Illya stared at him.  
  
“Okay,” he said and removed his hand from Illya’s lap. Then he put his hand on the back of Illya’s neck. Illya’s skin was warm and the fabric of the turtleneck was soft. Illya looked pretty much as relaxed as when they had first met and he had tried to rip Napoleon’s car apart with his bare hands.  
  
Oh, _shit._ The things Illya could do in bed with those hands -  
  
Illya pushed his mouth against Napoleon. Napoleon closed his eyes. So, they were kissing now. Illya seemed to take it very seriously. Maybe this was the Russian way. He kissed Illya back the best he could and then made a mistake of opening his eyes. He just wanted to see if Illya had his eyes closed, and Illya had, but that wasn’t all.  
  
Napoleon shouted, jumped back and fell from the bench. Illya stood up. He looked slightly offended but Napoleon didn’t have time to think about his feelings now. This was a question of life and death.  
  
“The ducks,” he told Illya, “they’re approaching.”  
  
Illya glanced at him and then at the ducks. And then he nodded. “I will take care of it.”  
  
  
**  
  
  
When they got back to the hotel room, it turned out that Waverly had sent them a note and told them to investigate the surroundings of the hotel, so they went back out again and continued their argument. It was about the ducks. Napoleon argued that Illya should have just killed the ducks instead of taking Napoleon in his arms and carrying him to safety. He didn’t mention that he had enjoyed the part where he had been in Illya’s strong arms, up in the air where the ducks couldn’t hurt him. And Illya argued that they weren’t supposed to draw attention and therefore shooting ducks in the park wouldn’t have been wise. Napoleon thought Illya was being overdramatic about a little shooting or maybe Illya underestimated the threat of the ducks. But when he tried to tell that to Illya, he remembered they had kissed and got distracted. The way Illya was looking at was very distracting, too.  
  
They investigated the surroundings for two hours, had a lunch in a nice restaurant and then came back to the hotel. By then, Gaby had identified two Norwegian spies living in the building across the street. They told Gaby about their lunch and Gaby told them about the Norwegian spies, and then Napoleon had to take a painkiller and lie down for a moment, because the hangover was just too bad. He closed his eyes and listened to Illya’s murmuring and Gaby’s humming. So, Illya had kissed him. He hadn’t been aware that he was sexually attracted to Illya, but now that he thought about it, it made sense. It certainly explained why he had attempted to seduce Illya last night. It also explained the odd feeling he had had when they had first met and he had watched Illya trying to stop his car.  
  
He took a deep breath. He was pretty sure Illya liked him too, because everyone liked him, and even those who hated him, wanted to sleep with him. But Illya had saved him from the ducks, so Illya probably liked him. He wondered if Illya wanted to have sex with him and if that was going to happen before or after dinner. He didn’t have much appetite right now. He also wondered what kind of sex Illya liked. He personally was flexible but not as flexible as ten years ago, because he didn’t like stretching. But maybe he could learn to like it, if it turned out to be important for Illya.  
  
“Hey, Peril,” he said and peered open one eye. “What kind of sex do you like?”  
  
“Oh my god,” Gaby said and stood up. She sounded annoyed but also like she was trying not to laugh. “Can you, like, warn me before you start discussing something like that? Like, maybe we need a codeword.”  
  
“What kind of a codeword?” Napoleon asked. “How about ‘sex’?”  
  
Gaby stared at him.  
  
“What?” he asked. “If I say ‘sex’, then you know that I’m going to talk about sex. You have been warned.”  
  
“That’s not what I meant at all,” Gaby said and took her purse. “I’m going to go to spy the Norwegian spies. You two can stay here and have a chat.”  
  
Napoleon thought about arguing, but he was feeling tired and also he had almost got eaten by a thousand ducks today. He smiled at Gaby as she took her things and left the room, and then he accidentally smiled at Illya, too. Illya was sitting in a chair with a book in his lap, but he was staring at Napoleon.  
  
“So, what kind of sex do you like?” Napoleon asked, in case Illya had forgotten what they were going to talk about. Then he thought about something. “We are going to have sex eventually, aren’t we? Or did you just want to kiss?”  
  
“No,” Illya said, “no, yes, I think.”  
  
Napoleon blinked. “You think what?”  
  
“We are going to…” Illya cleared his throat. “Have sex.”  
  
“Why’re you saying it like that?”  
  
“Like what?”  
  
“Like you’ve never said the word before.”  
  
Illya bit his lip.  
  
“Don’t you call it ‘sex’ in Russia?”  
  
Illya stared at him.  
  
“What do you call it, then?”  
  
“We do not call it anything,” Illya said, crossing his arms and then his legs as well. “We do not discuss it unless we absolutely have to.”  
  
“You’ve never talked about sex?”  
  
“Of course I have.” Illya paused. “You mentioned it yesterday. I just…”  
  
“What?”  
  
“I haven’t talked about that kind of sex.”  
  
“That kind of sex?”  
  
“The kind that we are talking about.”  
  
“We aren’t really talking about any kind of sex yet,” Napoleon said and then thought about it. “What do you think, what kind of sex we’re talking about?”  
  
“The kind that…” Then Illya closed his mouth and just looked at Napoleon.  
  
“Yes?”  
  
“You and me.”  
  
“That wasn’t a sentence.”  
  
“Yes, it was,” Illya said and then frowned. “No, it wasn’t. I can speak English. There’s nothing wrong with my English.”  
  
“Yeah, I know,” Napoleon said, “it’s the upbringing that’s the problem. You were saying something about you and me.”  
  
Illya stared at him.  
  
“Okay, I’ll just ask you then,” Napoleon said. He wondered if he ought to have sit up for this conversation, but he was comfortable lying in the bed and his headache had got a little bit better too, so he decided not to bother. He crossed his hands on his stomach and glanced at Illya. “I would very much like to make love to you, if you’re willing. But maybe we should discuss our preferences beforehand so that we know what we’re getting into. For example, I would like to know if I have to do some stretching first. And I have to admit that my experiences of having sex with men are quite limited. I have only slept with, I don’t know, five or six men in my life. How about you?”  
  
Illya stared at him and then shook his head.  
  
“Really?” he asked. “I’m going to be the first?”  
  
Illya stared at him.  
  
“Well, that’s… that’s actually quite touching, Peril,” he said. Oh, god. That put a little bit pressure on him. Luckily, he was excellent in bed, so there was nothing to stress about. “And have you maybe thought about what it would be like, having sex with a man?”  
  
Illya frowned.  
  
“I mean, have you thought about what it would be like, having sex with _me?_ ”  
  
Illya swallowed.  
  
“Of course you have,” Napoleon said and smiled. Illya seemed dazzled. Poor boy, he was going to be so much more dazzled later. “Maybe the most pressing question here, the one that we’re all interested in, is that do you want me to be bossy? Because some people expect that of me in bed, but it’s really not my thing. I can fake it if you want. But I’d like to know beforehand so that I can prepare.”  
  
“Cowboy,” Illya said slowly, “you aren’t going to be _bossy_ when we are in bed.”  
  
Napoleon blinked. Then he lowered his hands to cover his crotch. “I’m not?”  
  
“No,” Illya said, staring at him as if he was about to run after Napoleon’s car and stop it by clinging onto the bumper.  
  
“Alright,” Napoleon said and very subtly tugged his trousers. It didn’t help. “I can see what you mean. Now I have another question.”  
  
“Yes?” Illya asked, his voice lower and more Russian than usually.  
  
He smiled politely. “Do you want to have your cock inside my ass?”  
  
Illya looked slightly surprised but then nodded. “If you –“  
  
“Yes,” he said, “yes, I would like that very much. Thank you, Peril.”  
  
“I have not done anything yet.”  
  
“No, but you will,” he said and tried to stop thinking about what Illya would do to him later, because his trousers were too tight and if he opened the zipper, he didn’t think he could get it closed again. “Great. Any details you’d like to discuss?”  
  
Illya just stared at him.  
  
“Okay,” he said and smiled. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to close my eyes for a second. I’ve got a boner and it’s not going to go away if I keep staring at you. And we don’t have time to bang right now. Gaby could be back any minute and we have to be ready in case she brings Norwegian spies with her.”  
  
“Maybe after dinner,” Illya said.  
  
“I thought so too,” Napoleon said and closed his eyes.  
  
  
**  
  
  
“So, what are you going to do this evening?” Gaby asked, when the three of them were walking back to the hotel from the restaurant where they had had dinner. It had been nice. There had been food, and Illya had stared at Napoleon so intently that Napoleon had been a little worried he might swallow the spoon.  
  
“What are we going to do this evening?” Napoleon repeated, glancing at Illya. Illya glanced at him. They were walking side by side on the pavement. It was nice, too. Napoleon supposed he had walked side by side with Illya before, but usually it felt like a competition.  
  
“What are we going to do this evening?” Illya said in a perfectly blank voice.  
  
Napoleon bit back a smile but poorly. Then he glanced at Gaby. “Nothing.”  
  
“Nothing,” Illya said.  
  
“We’re going to do nothing,” Napoleon added, in case that was unclear.  
  
“You and Illya?” Gaby asked.  
  
“Yes,” Napoleon said and glanced at Illya. “Right?” Then he blinked. Oh, god, how tall Illya looked, walking on the pavement like a KGB agent.  
  
“Right,” Illya said. “Nothing.”  
  
Gaby glanced between them. She seemed to be thinking about something. What that was, Napoleon really couldn’t tell. It could be anything. Desert, dresses, cars, nuclear bombs, whatever.  
  
“Right,” Gaby said slowly. “I just realized I’ve forgotten something, so I’m not going to come back to the hotel with you. I have to do this… thing first. So, I suppose you two are going to have the room for yourselves for a while.” She bit her lip. “Half an hour?”  
  
Napoleon smiled.  
  
“No, I think it’s going to take longer,” Gaby said, tilting her head to the side. “An hour? Two hours? Three hours?”  
  
Napoleon smiled a little bit more. He didn’t really understand what Gaby could have forgotten that would take her three hours to get back, but he rarely bothered with other people’s problems and he wasn’t going to start now.  
  
“Okay, I’ll be back in three hours,” Gaby said and pointed her finger at both of them. “Remember that. When I get back, you’d better be doing nothing.”  
  
“Of course,” Napoleon said, smiling.  
  
They walked back to the hotel alone, he and Illya. It was a nice evening. If he had been a romantic by his nature, he supposed he might have appreciated the scene: two incredibly handsome men walking side by side in silence while the sun was setting behind the city and their steps on the concrete created a magical rhythm that beat at the same tempo with his heart. But thank god he wasn’t a romantic person. That would have been awkward, especially because Illya probably wasn’t romantic. Illya was the most practical person he had ever met, just with a little bit of temper. Illya was the prettiest person he had ever met, as well.  
  
He glanced sideways and met Illya’s big blue eyes that met his gaze steadily, as if Illya was a KGB agent and he was a target. He had a funny feeling in his stomach. Maybe he had swallowed something he shouldn’t have. That happened to him sometimes. He just wished it wasn’t still alive. Anyway, a romantically inclined person might have thought about the sweet anticipation tingling in his fingers while his arm brushed against Illya’s, but he wasn’t like that, so he only thought about whether Illya might want to hold hands with him.  
  
He leaned a little bit towards Illya. Their arms brushed again.  
  
And then Illya tackled him against the telephone booth.  
  
“What?” he asked, wishing he wouldn’t have sounded so surprised.  
  
“What?” Illya asked. He had both Napoleon’s hands stretched behind his back and he was pressing Napoleon against the glass window of the telephone booth with his body. Napoleon could feel his breathing against the back of his neck. Also, he had one of his knees pushed between Napoleon’s thighs. For what reason, Napoleon wasn’t sure.  
  
“What’re you doing, Peril?” Napoleon asked, trying to sound calm or irritated and not like he was thinking about Illya’s knee in between his thighs.  
  
Illya’s grip on Napoleon’s wrists loosened a little. Napoleon could have probably freed himself now, but he didn’t want to. “You were glancing at me,” Illya said.  
  
“And you attacked me,” Napoleon said, shifting a little. He could almost sit down on Illya’s knee.  
  
“You were _glancing at me_ ,” Illya said to his ear, “constantly. And you had a weird look on your face. I thought you were thinking about killing me again.”  
  
“ _What?_ We haven’t tried to kill each other in _days_.” Well, they had talked about it yesterday, but there hadn’t been any actual attempts at murder, so that didn’t count. Napoleon took a deep breath. “I wasn’t thinking about killing you, Peril. I was thinking about… the other thing.”  
  
“The other thing?” Illya asked. He sounded perfectly serious. Also, there was something thick pressing against the back of Napoleon’s thigh now, and it wasn’t Illya’s gun.  
  
“Let’s go home,” he said, trying to sound cool about it. “And then you can fuck me.”  
  
Illya’s hands twitched. “It’s not our _home,_ Solo, it’s a hotel room.”  
  
“That’s what I was thinking about when I kept glancing at you,” Napoleon said. “That we should go home and you should fuck me. But I was also thinking about how tall you are, walking there like that, and that maybe you might want to hold hands with me.”  
  
Illya let go of his hands. Well, that was a disappointment. Another disappointment was when Illya stopped squeezing Napoleon against the telephone booth with his body.  
  
“I apologize,” Illya said.  
  
“There’s no reason for that,” Napoleon said, straightening the hem of his coat. “It was quite reasonable of you to be suspicious.”  
  
Illya nodded at him grimly. He tried not to glance down at Illya’s crotch and failed.  
  
“If you don’t mind,” he said, “we could go back to the hotel and make love.”  
  
“I don’t mind,” Illya said, looking like he minded a lot. But when they started walking again, Illya put his hand on the small of Napoleon’s back and kept it there for almost three seconds. If Napoleon had been inclined to romantic thinking, he would have had some trouble breathing.  
  
  
**  
  
  
When they got back to the hotel, Napoleon was quite breathless. He took off his coat and then started unbuttoning his shirt. It was a lucky coincidence that Gaby had had something to do somewhere else, because he wasn’t sure he could have had sex with Illya if Gaby was watching. That might have been a little distracting and he didn’t like to be distracted during sex, unless the distraction was a finger in his ass and it had been discussed beforehand. He tried to steady his breathing, took off his shirt and folded it on the back of the chair, and then proceed to get rid of his trousers. Then he realized Illya was staring at him.  
  
“What?”  
  
“Nothing,” Illya said. “You’re taking off your clothes.”  
  
Napoleon looked down. He had just opened his zipper. “Did you want me to be dressed for this? I know this outfit suits me.”  
  
“Absolutely not,” Illya said, looking away from Napoleon. Well, that was a bad sign. No one did that. “Maybe we should turn off the lights.”  
  
Napoleon blinked. “Turn off the lights? Why the hell would we do that?”  
  
Illya glanced at him, then away from him, then at him again. He waited. He was a very patient person, so he supposed he could wait for approximately three more seconds if necessary. But gladly the things didn’t go that way. Illya walked towards him, passed him, and went to turn off the light.  
  
“Peril,” he said. It was a little unfortunate that he already sounded so breathless. But nothing could keep him silent, not even lack of oxygen.  
  
“Shh,” Illya said. Napoleon barely saw in the dark room as Illya walked to him and stopped in front of him. He would have raised his chin to look Illya in the eyes, but his neck was already hurting from the other times he had done that.  
  
He swallowed.  
  
Illya pushed a hand into his pants.  
  
“Am I doing this right?” Illya asked. He sounded as if he was talking about chess, only less passionate.  
  
Napoleon cleared his throat.  
  
“Yes?” Illya asked. His fingers weren’t very warm right now but Napoleon didn’t exactly mind. Also, Illya had quite a firm grip of his dick and was tugging in a slow rhythm that would quite possibly either drive him mad or otherwise ruin his life. For example, he wasn’t sure if there was something legally binding on his contract about marrying a foreign agent.  
  
“Cowboy?” Illya said, sounding a bit worried now. That was nice of him. That was actually wonderful. The way he was handling Napoleon’s balls was wonderful, too. Napoleon certainly was glad that he had mentioned he didn’t enjoy violence around that particular area. “Solo?” Illya said. “Are you alright?”  
  
Napoleon managed to nod. Then he made a sound that he wasn’t particularly proud of, although admittedly it was hot.  
  
“Good,” Illya said. He raised his other hand and put it on the back of Napoleon’s neck. Napoleon didn’t whine. He didn’t try to buck into Illya’s fist either. He was being very cool about all this. “Maybe we need a codeword for this,” Illya said, “something you can say if you want me to stop.” Then he paused. “Can you talk?”  
  
Napoleon shook his head. Oh, god, he was trying to buck into Illya’s fist and also he was pretty sure he had just whined.  
  
“How unfortunate,” Illya said and then stroked Napoleon’s dick in the way that made Napoleon’s knees buckle. “Alright then. If you want me to stop, just elbow me. Just not in the face. My nose is sensitive. Do you think you can manage that?”  
  
Napoleon nodded. Then he had to grab Illya’s both arms, because otherwise he would have fallen onto the floor.  
  
“Great,” Illya said. He sounded almost cheerful. Napoleon kind of wanted to elbow him in the face for picking this moment to sound happy, but there were things he wanted more, for example to have Illya take him to bed and stare at him a little more.  
  
He squeezed Illya’s bicep. Surprisingly, Illya got the hint, lifted him up and carried to the bed. There, Illya put him on his back, took off his shoes and socks almost carefully, and then tugged down his trousers. He stared at Illya. It seemed that he had somehow underestimated how excited he was about this. He probably had been distracted because of the ducks and the mission to save the world from nuclear-involved disaster. Now, he felt as if everything in him was trembling with anticipation, not just his dick. Illya grabbed his knees, pushed them apart and then settled in between them, and he used the last of his willpower to tug at Illya’s sleeve.  
  
“Off,” he said. “Please.”  
  
Illya frowned at him. Oh, _shit,_ he was a man in perfect control of himself, but this was too much. “Is that really necessary?”  
  
He nodded. “ _Yes._ ”  
  
“This is not the Russian way,” Illya said but took off his shirt. Then he took off his trousers too. He had to get out of the bed to do that, which was bad, but there were pros to the situation as well. He folded his trousers on the floor and then folded his socks, too, and then he straightened his back. He was tall like a tower, or a nuclear rocket, or a swan with a very long neck, or a lift bridge. He looked like he was at the risk of hitting his head against the ceiling. If Napoleon hadn’t been as cool as he was, he might have made up a few poetic metaphors about Illya’s height.  
  
“Hmm,” he said. Illya was so tall he could probably reach the moon. Or change a lightbulb without standing on a chair.  
  
“What do you mean, _hmm_?” Illya said, climbed onto the mattress between Napoleon’s legs. “Are you unhappy?”  
  
“No,” Napoleon said. He didn’t sound as cool as he wanted to, but what the hell.  
  
“No?” Illya said, then kept his other hand on Napoleon’s knee and brushed his fingers behind Napoleon’s balls. “Can I do this?”  
  
Napoleon nodded.  
  
“Interesting,” Illya said. “And this?”  
  
Napoleon nodded again, opened his mouth but didn’t remember how to form words.  
  
“What about this?”  
  
“Mmmmgh,” Napoleon said.  
  
“Great,” Illya said, pulled his finger away and patted Napoleon on the knee. The said finger hadn’t even gone inside yet, it had just lightly brushed again where it would probably go later, so there was no reason for Napoleon to be panting. There was also absolutely no way he could stop it. “Don’t go anywhere,” Illya said and got out of the bed again.  
  
Napoleon closed his eyes.  
  
  
**  
  
  
He woke up to someone stroking his hair. It was Illya, thank god, because if it had turned out that he had been kidnapped again, he would have been averagely pissed. Now he smiled at Illya and then realized they were both naked, and despite the unfortunately dim lighting, he had a good look on Illya’s dick. He looked at it for a while and then glanced at Illya’s face. Illya seemed somewhat confused, which was an odd look on him.  
  
“You fell asleep,” Illya said. “I was gone for just a moment and you had fallen asleep. What is wrong with you?”  
  
“I have a list,” Napoleon said. It was in his suitcase. Everything on that list was a lie, though. For example, it was on the list that he was overconfident. He wasn’t overconfident. He was the best. “Where did you go?”  
  
“To the bathroom,” Illya said. “I tried to find something that would help us to…” He paused.  
  
“Yes,” Napoleon said. “Very nice of you. I’m terribly sorry I fell asleep. I don’t know how that could happen. For how long you were gone?”  
  
Illya stared at him. “For an hour.”  
  
He blinked. “For an hour?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“You were gone for an hour?”  
  
“Yes,” Illya said, looking unhappy. “I panicked.”  
  
“You _panicked?_ ” Napoleon took a deep breath. Oh, god. Of course. Illya had never fucked a man before, _of course_ it would be slightly intimidating to start with someone as awesome as Napoleon. He should have followed Illya to the bathroom. If only he hadn’t been so busy losing his mind over the thought that Illya was about to fuck him… “Sorry,” he said and grabbed Illya’s hand. Illya had stopped stroking his hair at some point, but he was willing to forgive Illya for that. “I should’ve realized this would be stressing for you. Why did you panic?”  
  
“I realized today is my mother’s birthday,” Illya said.  
  
Napoleon opened his mouth and closed it again. “Your mother’s birthday?”  
  
“I have been so busy. I didn’t even send her a card.”  
  
“Well, that’s not good,” Napoleon said. “We could go send her a card now. I think I saw a post office when you were carrying me in your arms after the attack of the ducks.”  
  
“We only have one hour and thirty-two minutes until Gaby comes back.”  
  
“Oh.” Napoleon thought about the situation. “We can still go to send her a postcard now, if you want to. I understand. And besides, you can fuck me any time.”  
  
“Thank you,” Illya said. “I still think we should finish this first.”  
  
“Alright.” That was what Napoleon had been secretly hoping for, and not only because he was getting hard for looking Illya in the eyes. He also had a feeling that he might like Illya a little bit. “Did you find anything to help you to get our dick into my ass?”  
  
“No, I did not. I suppose toothpaste won’t do.”  
  
“Maybe not,” Napoleon said. He wasn’t going to tell Illya about the time when he had tried to do it with toothpaste. He patted Illya on the shoulder, then spent a few seconds caressing the said shoulder, and then got out of the bed. “I have lube in my suitcase. We can use it.”  
  
He found the lube under a very stylish pair of boxers and Donald Duck socks which he had got from his mother for Christmas and which he was a little afraid of for a reason he couldn’t really fathom. He covered the socks with a comic book he had been reading since 1958, went back to Illya and put the lube tube in Illya’s hand. “Here you go.”  
  
“Thank you,” Illya said. “And what –“  
  
“Undo the cork,” Napoleon said, “then squeeze the tube so that the stuff comes out. Then you have to warm it between your hands. Then you can apply it on your fingers. Then I think you should push your finger into my ass. Just one finger first, if I may suggest so. And slowly. And not all the way in right away. Just, push a little and then wait until I adjust, and then you can push it a little deeper. You could also pull it back if I feel extremely tight. And you can rub around my hole if you like, that might relax my muscles. Personally, I am very relaxed, but I can’t control my asshole. It’s just physics. I suppose you are aware. Do you have physics in Russia? Anyway, when you have successfully put one finger into me, you could try with two. It’s basically the same thing, just you’re trying to push two fingers into me instead of one. And when you have done that, you can try with three. You can also try to circle your fingers inside me. There’s this specific spot that you might reach if you crook your fingers a little. But carefully, because it’s very sensitive. And it might be useful if you had your other hand on my cock while you were doing all this. And then, when you feel that I’m relaxed enough, you can settle the tip of your dick against my entrance and then slowly push in –“  
  
“Cowboy.”  
  
“Until you have your cock fully in my ass. You might have to stop a few times during the process. Or pull back.” He blinked. He supposed Illya had said something. “Yes?”  
  
“You don’t have to tell me everything,” Illya said. He was staring at Napoleon and the look on his face was difficult to read. He didn’t look unhappy, though. “I appreciate it, but it is unnecessary.”  
  
“Ah,” Napoleon said.  
  
“But if you want to keep talking –“  
  
Napoleon opened his mouth and then thought about it again. “No, I think I’m fine. We could just do it.”  
  
“Yes,” Illya said, and then they did it.  
  
  
**  
  
  
If Napoleon had been a romantic person _at all_ , he would have had some difficulties controlling himself while Illya was pushing first his fingers and then his cock into his ass. But luckily he wasn’t, so he only clung onto Illya’s shoulders and kept staring into Illya’s eyes, which were the prettiest eyes he had ever seen, and the most terrifying eyes too, which only made it better. He wanted to kiss Illya, and he would, later, when they wouldn’t be so busy. He also wanted Illya to cuddle him and go on a date with him and hold his hand and visit his mother. He wanted everything. But what he wanted the most _right now_ was for Illya to fucking finish fucking him already. Illya was the slowest lover he had ever had. And the best. And the most beautiful. More precious than the stars on the morning sky. He needed Illya to shove his cock into him and jerk him off and then kiss him sweetly.  
  
“Shh,” Illya said every time Napoleon tried to tell him this. Not the part about the morning sky, though. But the rest of it. And then Illya kept fucking into Napoleon with his irritably slow rhythm. Napoleon was going to go crazy. Or fall in love. Or something else equally terrifying.  
  
“Illya,” he said.  
  
“Shh.”  
  
“I want to tell you something.”  
  
“ _Shh,_ ” Illya said, his cock brushing against the very sensitive spot inside Napoleon.  
  
“ _Bloody fucking hell_ ,” Napoleon said. He didn’t think he could take this much longer, and he had thought so for the last fifteen minutes _at least._ “Also, I like you.”  
  
Illya froze.  
  
Oh, no, no, _no -  
  
_ “Oh, no, no, no, _no,_ ” Napoleon said and tried to grab his own dick, but Illya stopped his hand.  
  
“I like you, too, Cowboy,” Illya said, staring at him with his eyes that were more awesome than capitalism and space. “I don’t know why but I can’t help it. I have liked you for at least three days now and I think I am never going to stop.”  
  
“We should get married,” Napoleon said and then bit his lip. Oh, _fuck._ He was _not_ a romantic person.  
  
“I’m afraid that is not possible,” Illya said, frowning. “My mother would not accept you. You are bad at chess.”  
  
Napoleon smiled politely. He was going to learn how to play chess as soon as Illya would stop fucking him. “Fine. We’ll just live together then. Peril?”  
  
“Cowboy?”  
  
“Could you maybe finish fucking me?”  
  
Illya sighed, pulled out and then pushed back into Napoleon so hard Napoleon almost forgot about the chess.  
  
  
**  
  
  
“How was it?” Gaby asked, when she came back home with two Norwegian spies.  
  
“Fine,” Napoleon said.  
  
“Adequate,” Illya said.  
  
“Peril here didn’t completely disappoint me,” Napoleon said.  
  
“Cowboy had some good qualities,” Illya said. “Also, he sounded funny.”  
  
“I think I may be in love with him,” Napoleon told Gaby.  
  
“Great,” Gaby said, smiling. Then he pushed one of the spies at Napoleon and one at Illya. The spies said something in Norwegian. They sounded curious but not in a happy way, which was difficult to comprehend. Napoleon was happy. Everything was great. The world was a great place. Even socialism was, if not great, then at least manageable in small portions. Especially if it included Illya fucking him until he was a sobbing mess and for another twenty minutes.  
  
He spent the rest of the evening politely asking the Norwegian spies what they were doing in France. After half an hour, Gaby told him they were actually in Belgium. He was slightly surprised but not terribly so. He had once looked at the map when he had still been in the States and it had seemed that France and Belgium were next to each other. It was an easy mistake to make. And he supposed Illya still loved him. He bet Illya was perfect at reading maps. They would be perfect together. A perfect couple of Special Agents doing special things together and to each other, only he wasn’t sure if he could take it tonight. He had some trouble walking but in a very pleasurable way, as if someone had just fucked him thoroughly, like capitalism, but sweeter.  
  
“I think I love him,” he told the Norwegian spy.  
  
  
**  
  
  
“Cowboy?” Illya said, when they were in bed. Illya had his arm draped over Napoleon’s waist and Napoleon was feeling a little emotional about the fact that this time, he was awake for it. He shifted closer to Illya until his dick was pressed in between their bodies so tightly that he couldn’t breathe.  
  
“Peril?” he said breathlessly.  
  
“What about tomorrow?”  
  
“What do you mean, what about tomorrow?”  
  
“I just…” Illya took a deep breath. “What if you change your mind?”  
  
“About what?”  
  
“About me.”  
  
“What do you mean, about you?”  
  
“What if,” Illya started, sounding more afraid than Napoleon had ever heard him. Well, that was worrying. Illya had seen ducks, after all. “What if you don’t want to be with me tomorrow?”  
  
Oh. “Well, I’m not sure if I can have you fuck me tomorrow,” Napoleon said. “I’m still a little sore. But the day after tomorrow, definitely.”  
  
“I did not mean that,” Illya said. “I meant, what if you don’t… like me tomorrow?”  
  
 _Oh._ “I will like you.” The topic was a little too personal, but he supposed he would survive.  
  
“But what if you change your mind?”  
  
“I’m not going to. I’m the most stubborn person I know. And also the best.”  
  
Illya kissed his neck. Earlier, they had watched television with the Norwegian spies and after the spies had fallen asleep, they had kissed a lot. And every time they had kissed, Napoleon had thought it was his favorite kiss so far. He had said that out loud, too, and Gaby had gone to the bathroom very quickly. Napoleon wished she hadn’t caught a stomach flu.  
  
“Peril?” he said now.  
  
“Cowboy?” Illya said, kissing Napoleon’s ear. When they had got to the bed after kissing in the bathroom, Illya had licked his ear a little. Napoleon had asked him about it and he had said it was the Russian way.  
  
“What if you don’t like me tomorrow?”  
  
“Don’t worry,” Illya said, licking his ear. “I would never grow tired of someone so irritating as you.”  
  
Napoleon smiled. That was what he had thought, he had just wanted to make sure.  
  
“We cannot get married, though,” Illya said. “I called my mother. She said ‘no’.”  
  
Well, that wasn’t good. “She’ll like me when she meets me.”  
  
“Hmm,” Illya said.  
  
Napoleon turned his head and kissed Illya on the mouth. Illya tasted of his toothpaste. They had shared tonight. He had thought it would be cute, and also he had checked the ingredients in Illya’s toothpaste and he was pretty sure that stuff was dangerous. Illya had snorted and called him a pussy, but he had also liked Napoleon’s toothpaste.  
  
“Do you want me to do something about this?” Illya asked now, settling his fingers loosely on Napoleon’s dick. It was indeed getting hard.  
  
“Hmm,” Napoleon said. “The last time, you kept me on the edge for half an hour. I’m not sure I can handle that again so soon.”  
  
“What if I take it in my mouth?” Illya asked. “I can keep you pressed against the mattress while I’m doing it, so you won’t strain yourself.”  
  
Napoleon thought about it. It actually sounded very good. He didn’t think he could last for more than maybe ten seconds if he saw his dick going into Illya’s mouth, and he always loved it when Illya was pressing him against flat surfaces. He was now seeing their first wrestle in the public bathroom in the different light. It was just the choking part that he hadn’t enjoyed, but otherwise, being kept still in Illya’s strong arms must have been a pleasure.  
  
Then again, he wasn’t completely against a little bit of friendly choking. Maybe Illya could sit on his face. Or just climb onto him, facing his feet, and push his dick into Napoleon’s mouth. Napoleon had very hairy toes but maybe Illya wouldn’t mind.  
  
He cleared his throat. “I think –“  
  
“Guys,” Gaby said from the next bed, “if you don’t stop talking right now, I’m going to shoot you myself.”  
  
“Dette er flaut,” said one of the Norwegian spies.  
  
“Jag må tisse,” said the other.  
  
“Don’t you have earplugs?” Napoleon asked Gaby.  
  
“Yes,” Gaby said, “but I also have eyes.”  
  
“We are not even naked yet,” Illya said. Then he glanced at Napoleon. “Do you think you can manage if we sleep first and then make love?”  
  
“Maybe,” Napoleon said. Then he kissed Illya again. The Norwegian spies sighed but in Norwegian, so he didn’t understand what they meant.  
  
  
**  
  
  
Napoleon lived through the night. In the morning, Illya was sleeping on him. He kissed Illya until Illya woke up, and then they kissed a little bit more, and then they jerked each other off in a very romantic and emotional way. Gaby tossed them a napkin. The Norwegian spies were watching the television. The day seemed nice. The world seemed nice, too.  
  
“Do you want to get breakfast with me?” Illya asked, when Napoleon was wondering what to do with the napkin.  
  
Napoleon smiled. “Oh, god, yes.”


End file.
